Last Thoughts of Bob Dylan

(Also "on")

When you've buried your body neck deep in the ground
But your mind conjures time, building ripples in sound
In the belly of science, where ends seldom stay
In the bowels of religion, swallowed swiftly to pray

Where you're brought to a boil, then tenderly fried
And they ask you "Now son, are you on the right side?"
From the government's fishermen, they've wrung you out dry
For they've bought and sold your medicine, just in time to see you die

But your mind keeps on turning, and the music smells sweet
Though they bask in the bruise of your dearest defeat

Sayin' that's when you'll be free, boy
That's when you'll be free
Once the world stops mistaking you for their precious little toy

When you've knotted your neck over too many times
That you no longer care to stare towards their ill crimes
Vial idols cut vitals from under your skin
To make sure you're still breathing in the state that you're in

But there's only one road to be liven, they say
With the rate of your dirty down underdog pay
One for giving
One for craving
One for ranting and raving
One for pride and depraving
One for mental misbehaving
One for clean cut and shaven
One for diggin' and slavin'
One for lying and cheatin'
One for bloodied and beaten
One for the million-dollar question
One for the suits you invest in

Where the road needs a pavin'
But it never gets done

Slain to work off the jack offs of coffee salutations and the new exaggerations from the early dew day
Waiting for your processors.. to carry you away

Can you hold up the finest in hitchhiking thumbs?
Just to travel the distance to carry the sun? 
Though you're sharp as a knife, and you're slick as a gun
They'll abuse what you choose though you've only got none
And they'll strangle you straight, till' the remains have gone
Set alone on the tracks till' your journey is done
On a train bound for opportune cities of one

Saying that's when you'll be free boy
That's when you'll be free
Once the world stops mistaking you for their precious little toy

They say there's no voice that can bear all those troubles
That can channel your truth, and relinquish the doubles
But beneath blistered wisdom, when the words reach the fire
Calls a voice that releases your silent desire       

From proverbial minds to shape mountains from sea
To your ears to spin legions, and visions of the'
Kicking fakes from their logic, singing hymns of lost Queens
Till the beauty of nature can sew up the seams
Till the king understands what the poor man has seen
Till the age of Bob Dylan can soak in your dreams

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